THE HEART OF CAP'N EZRA.
Meanwhile the three men in the dory had pushed away from the small wharf
on Windy Island and had started rowing into the thick, almost
impenetrable blanket of fog, which, having swept in from the sea, had
settled down over the inner harbor.
They could hear the melancholy drawn-out wail of the foghorn which was
beyond the Outer Ledge. The two longshoremen who were with the doctor
rowed toward the faint glimmer of red light, which could hardly be
distinguished. In fact, there were times when the lights on the town
wharf could not be seen at all, and once, when the roaring of the surf
seemed nearer than it should be, they realized with sinking hearts that
they had lost their bearings. Then it was that one of them uttered an
exclamation of astonishment and alarm. "The big light!" he cried. "What'd
ye s'pose has happened to it? Look ye! 'Tisn't swingin' like it should
be. It's hittin' a course straight toward town."
Doctor Winslow, at the rudder, turned and looked over his shoulder at the
looming black mass that was Windy Island. "Ezra is doing it to guide us,"
he said, "but he's taking a big chance." Then a sudden cry of warning:
"Starboard, hard! We almost ran head-on into that old buoy that hasn't
anchored a fishing smack since Jerry Mullet's boat went to the bottom."
"The big light came jest in the nick o' time, I swan if it didn't," Lute,
in the bow, declared, as with a powerful stroke, he turned the dory so
that it slipped past the buoy, barely scraping it.
"Straight ahead now. Give the fleet a wide berth," the doctor called. The
men were pulling hard when one of them stopped rowing and listened. "Doc
Winslow," he said, "tarnation take it, if I didn't hear a ghost right
then a-moanin' in that old hulk of Sam Peters'. Like's not it's a warning
for us of some kind."
Being superstitious, the longshoreman was about to pull away harder than
before, when the doctor commanded: "Belay there! Hold your oars! That's
not a ghost. There's someone in that boat. More than likely it's old Sam
himself having one of his periodical spells. He won't need help if it is,
but I can't pass by without finding out what is wrong. Thank heaven the
light is steady, if all's well on the outer shoals."
It took but a moment, the fog being illumined, for the dory to draw up
alongside of the boat that belonged to the frequently intoxicated
fisherman Sam Peters. Not a sound did they hear as they made fast.
"I reckon 'twa'n't nothin', arter all." Hank Walley was eager to return
to shore. "Like as not 'twa'n't."
Doctor Winslow listened intently. He, too, was anxious to reach the home
port, knowing that, not until then, would his friend Captain Ezra start
the big light swinging on its seaward course; but he lingered one moment.
"What ho! Sam there?" he called. But there was no reply. The good doctor
was about to give the command "Shove off. Get under way," when the sharp
eyes of the youngest man, Lute, noted a movement of some dark object he
had supposed was furled sail. Instantly he had leaped aboard the smack.
Holding his lantern high, he uttered a cry that brought the doctor to his
side. "By time!" Lute shouted. "It's the boy himself, but if he ain't
dead, he's durn close to it."
It was indeed Gene Beavers, who, after resting a while on the cask-like
buoy, had managed, with almost superhuman effort, to climb aboard the old
fishing boat. Then he had lost consciousness; in fact, his breathing was
so slight that the words of the longshoreman seemed about to be
fulfilled.
The doctor did what he could to revive the lad; then wrapped him in an
old sail cloth.
Ten minutes later, Rilla, standing by the side of Captain Ezra at a
window in the tower, uttered a glad cry. "They're swingin' 'em,
Grand-dad. They're swinging the two red lights! They've found him.
They've found Gene Beavers."
"God be thanked!" the old man said, as he started the big lamp turning on
its usual course. The fog had lifted out at sea and he scanned the dark
waters anxiously, eagerly. It had been a tremendous chance that he had
taken, and none but his Creator knew how constantly he had been praying
to the One who rules the sea that all might be well. It was a strange
thing for Captain Ezra to pray, but it seemed easier since hate had been
banished from his heart. Muriel noticed a new expression in the face of
the old man when, the next morning after breakfast, he said to her,
beaming over his spectacles: "Put on yer Sunday riggin's, Rilly gal.
You'n me air goin' to cruise over to Tunkett an' find out if that city
fellar is shipshape an' sailin' on even keel."
The girl went around the table, and stooping, she pressed her warm young
cheek against the wrinkled, leathery forehead.
The old man reached for her hand and held it in a firm clasp. Neither
spoke, but both knew that, at last, the hatred of many years had left the
heart of Captain Ezra.